


Like Real People Do

by worrisomeme



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everyone Is Alive, Implied/Referenced Pedophilia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mentioned Regent (Captive Prince), Nightmares, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27154447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worrisomeme/pseuds/worrisomeme
Summary: Laurent pauses on the front porch, staring at the house. He huffs and glances over his shoulder to where Govart is bitching nonstop as he hauls the prince’s bags from the trunk of his car. From one hell to another, he thinks to himself as he finally moves to unlock the door. He shifts the bag on his shoulder a little and chews on his bottom lip as he hesitates for just a moment before stepping into the home.From the landing he can see into the living room and even partially the kitchen thanks to the open floor plan. The house is warm and comforting, like a hug from Auguste when they were children. It’s decorated just like his brother dresses, or at least like he used to when Laurent saw him more than once a year, luxurious but not gaudy, princely- no, kingly, with just a hint of fun in it. A few of the windows are open and the inside of the house smells just like the chilly late summer morning outside. Looking around, he tries to feel more happy than bitter or sad. It doesn’t quite work. When was the last time he saw Auguste, anyway?
Relationships: Auguste & Nikandros (Captive Prince), Auguste/Nikandros (Captive Prince), Damen & Laurent (Captive Prince), Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 161





	Like Real People Do

Laurent pauses on the front porch, staring at the house. He huffs and glances over his shoulder to where Govart is bitching nonstop as he hauls the prince’s bags from the trunk of his car. _From one hell to another_ , he thinks to himself as he finally moves to unlock the door. He shifts the bag on his shoulder a little and chews on his bottom lip as he hesitates for just a moment before stepping into the home.

From the landing he can see into the living room and even partially the kitchen thanks to the open floor plan. The house is warm and comforting, like a hug from Auguste when they were children. It’s decorated just like his brother dresses, or at least like he used to when Laurent saw him more than once a year, luxurious but not gaudy, princely- no, kingly, with just a hint of fun in it. A few of the windows are open and the inside of the house smells just like the chilly late summer morning outside. Looking around, he tries to feel more happy than bitter or sad. It doesn’t quite work. When was the last time he saw Auguste, anyway?

“I’m not bringing these upstairs,” Govart grunts as he drops some of Laurent’s bags in the foyer.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to,” Laurent says flatly, barely casting the man a glance.

“You gonna come help me with the rest?” Govart asks. “It’ll only take one more trip if the princess isn’t too worried about breaking a nail,” he calls over his shoulder, already heading back to the car.

“Fuck you,” Laurent replies without wasting much venom on the bastard, but he’s already following him.

They get the last of his bags from both cars and into the foyer and Govart leaves without much of a goodbye at all. Laurent flashes the man his middle finger as the car pulls away. He leaves the front door open for the screen to let in more fresh air and opens the back for the same reason, then looks around the home once again. His heart aches in his chest.

He allows himself one more heavy sigh before starting to haul his bags up to the second floor. He finds Auguste’s room easy enough – a slightly more mature version of the one he had growing up in Arles, at least the last Laurent had seen of it – and claims the spare room that’s all the way across the house. He’s half-way through unpacking his bags when he hears voices outside.

A moment later the front storm door opens and he hardly recognizes his brother’s raised but amused voice echoing through the house. “Laurent? I hope it’s you that opened my doors and not a very bad burglar with a very nice car in my driveway. I thought you wouldn’t be here until tomorrow.”

Laurent can hear other voices follow his brother into the home as well, ones that he doesn’t recognize, but they’re quieter and Laurent isn’t even sure if they’re speaking Veretian or not.

He sighs heavily for what feels like the millionth time today, having hoped he’d have a little more time before Auguste got home, and leans out the doorway to shout back, “It’s me! Sorry I didn’t text you that I'd be early.”

Only one set of footsteps pads up the stairs as Laurent disappears back into his new room. The voices downstairs get a little louder again, definitely speaking Akielon and laughing as they move into the kitchen. They’re still not loud enough for Laurent to pick up what they’re saying, as even he’d admit his Akielon is rough, but loud enough to get on his nerves.

“Have you grown since the last time I saw you?” Auguste asks from the doorway. As Laurent turns toward him he’s smiling from ear to ear, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the doorframe.

“I doubt it,” Laurent says coldly, but he can’t help the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips at the sight of his brother, fighting the reaction as natural as was the reaction itself. “Though I can’t quite recall when the last time I saw you was, so I suppose it’s possible.”

Auguste’s smile falls and he pushes himself from the doorframe. “I’ve missed you so much,” he says and engulfs Laurent in a hug.

Laurent tenses at first, his breath catching in his throat. Then, slowly, he wraps his arms around Auguste’s waist and leans into his chest. “I’ve missed you too,” he says, and surprises himself with how much he means it.

Auguste holds him for just a minute too long, then he tugs lightly at the half ponytail Laurent’s pulled his hair up into before taking a step back. “Your hair is getting long,” he says, then tugs playfully at one of Laurent’s sleeves, light, breezy cotton but all the way down to his wrists. “And aren’t you hot in all that clothing? The summers at Arles or Chastillon are a little cooler I know, but here in Marlas you must be dying in long sleeves and pants.”

“I’m fine,” Laurent snaps and bats his brother’s hand away. He flushes and his gaze drops to his feet as Auguste recoils like he’d been burned. “Sorry,” Laurent says quietly, “I’m just tired, and you know how Govart is to deal with.”

“You have had a rougher time with uncle than I realized, haven’t you?” Auguste asks. “Is that why you never wrote me back, or texted? I’ll make it up to you, I -”

“ _Auguste, you haven’t been murdered up there have you?_ ” shouts one of the voices in Akielon, though he’s laughing as he stomps up the stairs. The sheer volume of it all has Laurent’s lip curling in distaste.

“ _I’m still alive_ ,” Auguste answers in flawless Akielon. His laughter is just slightly strained by the topic of their interrupted conversation as the man appears at the top of the stairs.

Laurent recognizes the man instantly as Prince Damianos, dressed in nothing but scandalously short shorts and an unbuttoned short sleeve top that leaves entirely too much olive skin on display, his hip-length hair pulled back into a ponytail that’s secured along the length of it with several other elastic bands.

“You really do spend all your time with the brute then, don’t you?” Laurent asks in Veretian, turning his back to the pair. Their uncle had called Auguste a traitor for it. Laurent wouldn’t go that far, but he won’t deny it leaves a sour taste in his mouth. After all, Auguste had been down here in enemy territory, fraternizing with the enemy prince and his best friend, all while Laurent had been tossed to his uncle’s whims and depravities like chum to a shark. He’s finally come face to face with the man Auguste had chosen over him.

“If you’re going to insult me in secret you’re going to have to do it in another language, young prince,” Damianos says in Veretian just as flawless and nearly unaccented as Auguste’s Akielon had been. “I can promise you I speak yours better than you speak mine.”

“I wouldn’t,” Auguste says and suppresses a snicker. “He speaks all of them.”

Laurent doesn’t feel embarrassed enough for his cheeks to pink; he doesn’t even bother turning around, instead pretending to busy himself reorganizing a stack of books on his new desk. What does he care if the barbarian prince knows how he feels about him? He’s never exactly been one to hold his tongue. He does bristle a bit, though, knowing Damianos was right about his Akielon. He’ll have to work on that.

“We were going to go pick up some food, since you apparently haven’t taken a trip to the grocery store yet,” Damianos says to Auguste and laughs.

“I was going to go tonight,” Auguste says and holds up his hands defensively. “I thought I had more time before Laurent arrived.”

“Well, your habit of procrastination has once again foiled you. Are you hungry, Your Highness?” Damianos says the nickname so teasingly, so familiarly, Laurent doesn’t even realize he’s talking to him.

“Laur?” Auguste asks after a moment of odd silence.

Laurent whirls around, eyebrows raised, and crosses his arms over his chest. “What?”

“Damen asked if you’re hungry.”

Laurent feels his eyebrows push even higher on his forehead. _Damen?_ he thinks. “I’m fine,” he replies with a huff and leans back against his desk. “Why don’t the three of you just go out? I’m sure you don’t want to hang out here with your baby brother.”

“If I was opposed to the idea I wouldn’t have suggested you move in here,” Auguste says, brow pulling tight and shoulders suddenly tense. “I thought –“

“You thought what?” Laurent snaps, throwing his hands up. “That I would not have changed an inkling since I was 9 years old? That we could pick up where we left off, as if I’d seen you more than once a year for nearly ten years? That letting me live here would ease your-“ He cuts himself off with sharp, quick huff of a sigh and spins back around to his books. “Go be with your friends. Don’t feel obligated to burden yourself with me now all of a sudden.”

There’s a too-long moment of silence where Auguste opens his mouth to say something a few times, but comes up empty each time. Damianos grabs his elbow gently and they have a silent conversation for another moment before finally Auguste sighs heavily, opens and closes his mouth a few more times, then they turn and leave without another word.

-

“I apologize for him,” Auguste says in Akielon, subdued and solemn, as they get into Nikandros’s car. “That was a horrible first impression. I don’t…” he trails off, unsure which of the million ways to end that sentence is the most fitting.

“It’s a long drive from Chastillon,” Damen says and twists in his seat to pat his friend’s knee comfortingly. He’s just glad Nik hadn’t been up there to witness it, frankly. He would be less forgiving.

“How bad could it have been?” Nikandros asks, drawing a wince to Auguste’s face.

“We’re going _out_ to eat, aren’t we?” Damen replies, giving his friend a look that says ‘don’t ask’.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you both to the house. He just got here, he’s tired. He’s probably overwhelmed as it is, starting college, moving south. And I’ve told you how our uncle hates the treaty. Of course with Laurent going to him at such a young age some of his bigotry would take root in him. I thought I could prevent it, if the two of us just stayed close enough, but I….” _couldn’t find enough time. Failed him,_ works too, he thinks. “…was just so busy,” he decides on. The grimace on his face gives his true thoughts away.

“It’s not your fault Auguste,” Damen reassures him, turning further in his seat to meet the blond’s eyes.

Nik next to him scoffs. “No, apparently it’s your bastard uncle’s.”

“You didn’t know he’d be a day early, so how could you have thought it would be a harm for us to come over today?” Damianos continues, taking one of Auguste’s hands in his. “You didn’t know he’d be here to overwhelm. And you said your uncle kept him on a short leash, right? He didn’t even get his own phone until he was sixteen. It would have been hard to stay close before that, and by then I’m sure those toxic seeds had already been planted.”

“It sounds like your uncle purposefully kept him away from you,” Nikandros adds, glancing just briefly at his friend in the rearview mirror. “Perhaps _specifically_ so he could mold him into the little mini-bastard duplicate he’s apparently become.”

Damen elbows Nikandros lightly. “You can’t really think he’d be that heinous to his own nephews.”

“No, Nik could be right,” Auguste says with a defeated sigh. “Unfortunately, it’s not outside the realm of possibilities.” He pauses, staring out the window for a contemplative moment. “I’ll have to try and talk to Laurent. Perhaps he’ll open up now that he’s out from under our uncle’s thumb. I just hope we can move past this, eventually.”

-

Laurent leaves almost immediately after Auguste and the barbarians pull out of the driveway, heading onto campus to scope out the gym he’ll be using when he makes the fencing team in a week. He runs into the coach and captain – Jord – there and gets caught up in conversation, losing track of time. It’s already approaching evening by the time he returns to the house.

Auguste is sitting on his front porch as Laurent pulls into the driveway, sipping a cup of wine while Nikandros and prince Damianos wrestle half-naked in the grass. Not that their scant clothing had been hiding much, but Laurent’s lip still curls in distaste.

“Do you have to do that out here and make a spectacle of yourselves for the entire street?” he asks, slamming his car door harder than necessary.

“The street is used to it,” Auguste says and laughs. “They do this all the time. We brought you back some food from the restaurant. It’s in the fridge.”

Damen just laughs and disentangles himself from his friend.

“Would it be more suited to your Veretian sensibilities if we were naked and the winner fucked the loser?” Nikandros asks, leaning back on his palms on the ground. He looks similar enough to Damen that Laurent is almost inclined to make a sharp comment about Kastor not being Theomedes’s only bastard son just to be cruel, but he bites his tongue on it. “Auguste has told us all about the courts up north and their idea of entertainment.”

Laurent’s nose scrunches and he spits on the ground at his feet. “Do _not_ lump me in with those perverts,” he says sharply and stomps up the porch and into the house.

He finds the food Auguste had mentioned and is tempted to throw it in the trash just to be spiteful, but his stomach growls and the room spins for a moment, so instead he sighs and starts begrudgingly searching for a plate to heat the food up on. When was the last time he ate, anyway?

The storm door opens and closes and a moment later Auguste is in the kitchen, reaching into a cabinet and holding a plate out to him.

“Do you want some wine?” he asks and leans back against the counter.

“I don’t drink wine,” Laurent says and it comes out more haughtily than he means it to. “The taste of it makes me sick.” He turns his back to his brother and unceremoniously dumps the food onto the plate.

“Are we going to talk about what happened at Chastillon?” Auguste asks after a moment, voice soft and hurt.

“Nothing happened at Chastillon,” Laurent snaps, his fingers gripping the counter hard enough to ache as he watches the plate spin around in the microwave.

Auguste sighs heavily and Laurent hears his head hit a cabinet as he tips it backwards. “I know you, and _especially_ uncle, well enough to not believe that for a second, but I’ll let it go for now,” he says. “What do you think of the campus?”

Laurent’s heart stops in his chest, his breath catches. “How did you know that’s where I was?” he manages to get out, voice calm despite the panic suddenly coursing through him. The microwave goes off and he pulls his food out, but he finds he’s not hungry anymore.

“I didn’t know,” Auguste says and Laurent lets out the breath he’d been holding. “I just figured, first day, you’d probably go check it out. You’ve always been curious.” Of course. It would be a logical conclusion to come to. Auguste would never have him bugged or followed like that. Like...

A hand on his shoulder shakes him from a bad memory. He reflexively pulls away, then tries to soften the gesture by turning to look at his brother. He can’t make it to a smile, though he knows that would help more. “It was adequate,” he says and shrugs.

Auguste’s eyebrows tug together and his lips turn down. He studies his brother for a long moment, a million things he wants to say running through his mind. Finally he asks, “Why don’t you come join us on the porch? I think you and Damen got off on the wrong foot. I know uncle put a lot of ideas in your head about Akielos and its people, but I think if you give them a proper chance you’ll find you really like him, and Nikandros too.”

Laurent bristles and he stares down at the plate of food already getting cold again. He feels a little sick still, and his first instinct is to snap at Auguste. But he’s tired, and he already feels bad enough about snapping at him earlier. He misses his brother and the closeness they used to have, even if he won’t admit it to himself. He certainly won’t admit how desperate he still feels for Auguste’s approval, buried deep under the bitterness and feelings of abandonment.

He sighs heavily and nods once, putting the plate back in the microwave but not turning it on again. “Fine,” he say and crosses his arms over his chest. “But they better put the rest of their clothes back on.”

-

Laurent can’t help but smile as he pulls his laptop from his bag on the first day of what he's sure will be his favorite class this semester – Modern Veretian Fiction. He pulls up a document to take notes and leans back as he waits for class to start, sipping his coffee happily as he looks around the room. He’s taken a seat near the back, despite his interest, not wanting unnecessary attention on him like he'd gotten in the two other classes he’d already had this week. Though his uncle kept him locked him away more often than not, he is a prince of Vere and everyone does know his face. It didn’t help that, despite practicing nearly constantly and hearing it from the frequent visits from Damianos and Nikandros in the week since he’s moved in, his Akielon is still heavily accented, if not quite as elementary.

“Over fifty thousand students and I have the pleasure of sharing a class with you,” says the now-familiar voice in Veretian as prince Damianos takes the seat next to Laurent’s. He's grinning and Laurent can’t quite tell how much of it is sarcasm.

“And just _what_ are you doing in a class like this?” Laurent asks, finding his mood suddenly sour.

“Expanding my knowledge of the Veretian language, of course,” Damen says, his grin widening. “My major is linguistics, and it’s impossible to master a language until you’ve learned slang and idioms and things, after all. And what a better way to learn those than literature?”

Laurent rolls his eyes and slouches in his seat. “You seem to have an excellent grasp of the language,” he says in a tone that manages to avoid making it sound like a compliment.

Damianos laughs and pulls his own laptop from his bag. “Why thank you, Your Highness,” he says and Laurent scowls at the title. “This was the most interesting elective to fill a particular slot in my requirements,” he stage-whispers conspiratorially. “What’s your major, young prince?”

Laurent rolls his eyes again, thinks about his uncle telling him they’d stick that way, then sighs. “Did you _have_ to sit next to me?” he asks, ignoring Damen’s question. “I’m not Auguste, you know. We’re not friends.”

“You’re right, you don’t have his charm, temperament, or build,” Damen says with a smirk.

“I can’t tell if you’re calling me short, skinny, or trying to indirectly hit on my brother,” Laurent says, unamused. “Either way, not a smart move.”

“I am saying you’re quick to anger, a little mean, and also short and skinny,” Damen replies with a wink. “The only one hitting on your brother is Nikandros.”

Laurent scrunches up his face in disgust. “Auguste has better taste than that.”

“I’d wager he doesn’t,” Damen says, not even bothering to try and defend either of his friends.

“ _That_ is a bet you’d lose,” Laurent says with a snort. “And anyway, you have nothing to offer me.”

“If you win, I could be your slave for a week.” When Laurent meets his eyes, Damianos wiggles his eyebrows at him. “You could boss me around and make me carry your things and get your coffee. And if I win, you could be mine.”

“Having you stuck to my side for a week sounds more like a punishment than a reward,” Laurent says.

Damianos laughs and rolls his eyes, then he asks, “Then how about if I win you have to let me pester you for a week?”

“How exactly is that a reward for you?” Laurent asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“I get to change your mind on my country and my people,” Damen says and reaches over to pat him on the shoulder.

Laurent shrugs his arm off violently and narrows his eyes at him. “And what do I get if I win then?”

“What do you want?” Damen asks, smirking.

“I’m not betting on my brother’s love life,” Laurent snaps. He looks around as the room is filling in, including the professor at the podium.

Damen laughs again and shrugs. “Think about it then,” he says as the professor is getting their attention. “It won’t matter once Nik makes a move, anyway.”

So much for this being his favorite class.

-

His worst nightmare happens nearly a week later.

Laurent is on the back porch reading a textbook. The storm door opens and a moment later Damen’s voice reaches his ears.

“It’s sweltering out here and you’re in a long sleeve shirt and pants,” he says in a tone Laurent can’t read. Maybe amusement.

“I don’t know why you act surprised,” Laurent replies without looking up. It’s entirely petulance, though, as he can’t focus on the words in front of him while the brute is talking to him. “I have been every day since I moved in.”

“Aren’t you dying in those clothes?” Damianos asks and laughs this time, crossing his arms over his chest. “You must be, your cheeks are pink.”

“I’m sorry not all of us enjoy being on display like a pet or a slave,” Laurent snaps. He snaps the book shut for effect and looks up at the other man. “Can I help you with something or did you just come out here to pester me?”

“Auguste sent me to let you know the food is done,” Damen says, smirking at him.

Laurent narrows his eyes. An ‘I’m not hungry’ dies on his tongue as his stomach growls, and Damen laughs again. “I’ll be right in,” he says and opens his book again.

Damen bows dramatically before turning to go back into the house. He can’t help a surprised laugh, however, as he opens the door. “I’ve won our bet,” he says over his shoulder.

“There is no bet,” Laurent says, his head snapping up to look at the other man as his heart starts to race.

“Now you have to let me pester you for a week,” Damen says delightedly. Then, into the house, “Okay, get a room you two.”

Laurent jumps to his feet. The barbarian _has_ to be lying. But when he makes it to the doorway Auguste is still disentangling himself from Nikandros’s embrace, his cheeks flushed.

“There was no bet!” Laurent insists to Damianos, heart still racing. Auguste meets his eyes and his face curls into disgust. “Suddenly I’m not hungry,” he says and stomps through the house to trade his book for his car keys.

-

The next day Damianos is in the kitchen when Laurent makes his way downstairs in nothing but pajama shorts, his hair down and disheveled. Damianos is pristine and ready for the day and Laurent flushes at being caught half-asleep and half-naked.

“Good morning, young Prince,” Damen says with a laugh and _long_ appreciative gaze that makes Laurent’s cheeks turn an even darker shade of red.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” Laurent snaps, his arms crossing protectively over his chest, his body stuck between turning to run and staying to keep shouting at the other man.

“Bothering you for a week,” Damen says and motions towards two coffee shop cups on the table. “You going to class like that?” He can’t help the way the corner of his mouth curls up or the snicker that escapes his lips.

“Fuck you,” Laurent snaps and finally his feet let him storm out of the kitchen.

Damen laughs and Laurent can just feel his eyes trailing after him as he heads upstairs. It doesn’t take long before footsteps follow him up. He’s staring into his closet, hairbrush in hand, when Damianos appears in his doorway.

“So anyway,” Damianos says as if they’d actually been having a conversation, “I figured I’d get you some coffee, bring you to class, after we could grab lunch and chat. Get to know each other, you know? I can drive you around if you’ve got other classes today, then back here for dinner.”

Laurent’s cheeks pink up again but he manages a deadpan as he sighs and looks at the other man. “I don’t get a say in this, do I?” he asks, tossing his brush onto his desk and finally turning from him to search for a hair elastic.

“I mean, you can _try_ to argue, but I don’t know how much good it’ll do you,” Damen says and flashes him a shit-eating grin. “Come on, you’ll see, it won’t be so bad.”

“I have fencing practice this afternoon,” he says, pulling his hair up into a half-pony before turning back to his closet.

“I didn’t know you fenced,” Damianos says, amused. “I thought you were more of bookworm.”

“It’s amazing how people are capable of being multi-faceted like that,” Laurent says and shoots him a look. “I need to get dressed. Go wait downstairs if you refuse to leave me alone.”

After class and a lunch where Damen would _not_ shut up the entire time, they make it to Laurent’s fencing practice.

“You’re not actually coming in, are you?” Lauren asks, lip curling, as Damen starts getting out of the car as well.

“Why not? I’ve gotta drive you home after,” Damen says and locks the car as they start heading toward the gym, Laurent begrudgingly. “Not to mention, I want to see your skills with a sword.”

“It’s called a saber. And you want to laugh at me if I’m bad,” Laurent says, pausing to glare as Damen opens the door for him. “Joke’s on you, though. I’m the best.”

“Are you, or does everyone let you win because you’re the prince?” Damen asks and laughs as he follows Laurent inside.

“Shut up and go sit with the boy,” Laurent sneers, gesturing dismissively toward a young man sitting in the bleachers with curly brown hair down to his chin and stunning green eyes.

“You're only a year older than me,” the boy calls back and flips Laurent his middle finger, sticking his tongue out. Damen doesn’t miss the bandages around his wrists, poorly covered by bracelets. “And I’ve got a name, shithead.”

“And I haven’t bothered remembering it,” Laurent replies with another dismissive wave, already heading to get changed.

The young man glares after Laurent as he goes, that is until Damen joins him on the bleachers. “Prince Damianos,” he says and gives a half-sincere bow.

“Damen is fine,” he says with a smile, holding out his hand. “And your name is?”

“Aimeric,” the boy says and flushes as he takes his hand to shake, the bandages even more noticeable up close.

“Ambassador Guion’s son?”

“Not if you ask him,” Aimeric says and scoffs, rolling his eyes and tossing his head so his curls bounce around his earlobes.

“Do you normally fence?” Damen asks. He wonders if the comment is related to the bandages around his wrist. “When you’re not injured?”

Aimeric flushes again and tucks his hands behind his back. “No, I don’t fence. I’m just here with Jord, the team captain. I come to support him.” His face softens as he thinks of the other man and Damen can’t help but grin. Ah, young love.

Then, as if summoned, the team emerges from the changing room.

“Where would you rank Laurent on the team?” Damen asks, an amused smirk on his lips.

Aimeric’s face scrunches up. “He and Jord are pretty evenly matched,” he says, though it sounds like it pains him to admit it. “And I _know_ Jord’s not going easy on him like the rest of the cowards.”

“I don’t go easy on him either!” says a man closer to Damen’s age with messy light brown hair and hazel eyes. He laughs and turns to Damen. “He’s much better than I thought he’d be, honestly. Spoiled prince like him. And with his reputation for being such a shut in, ya know? But I guess he’s Auguste’s brother, after all. Anyway, I’m Lazar. Pleasure to meet you, prince Damianos.”

“All these titles,” Damen says and waves a dismissive hand. “Please, call me Damen.” He leans forward and stage-whispers conspiratorially, “Give the young prince a real run for his money today, okay?” Then he winks.

Lazar laughs and nods quickly. “Absolutely!” He says.

“Lazar! Care to join us?” asks the man that must be Jord, tall with short light brown hair and a pale beard.

“Can we fucking practice today or are we going to be too distracted by the oaf and the child?” Laurent snaps.

“Is he _always_ like this?” Aimeric whispers to Damen while flipping Laurent the middle finger again.

Damen laughs and tips his head to the side, watching the young prince. “From what I’ve seen so far, yes.”

-

Nikandros and Damen are in the kitchen arguing in Akielon when Laurent wakes up. He can’t make out what they’re saying until he’s halfway down the stairs, but he doesn’t have class today and he’s groggy and annoyed that he has to deal with these two at all today, talk about so early. Why can’t the three of them hang out at Damen’s sometimes? Obnoxious.

Auguste is grinning to himself and shaking his head as he cooks breakfast, amused at his friends’ squabbling. Laurent is decidedly _not_ amused. As he walks into the kitchen he’s finally heard enough to figure out that they’re arguing over some trade route that Damen’s father is trying to plan.

“Kastor is an idiot,” Nikandros is saying as Laurent makes his way toward the kitchen.

“Kastor _is_ an idiot,” Auguste agrees, spinning around just long enough to point his spatula at Damen making two cups of coffee across the kitchen. “I haven’t _really_ been listening, though. I’m not entirely sure what we’re talking about.”

“Kastor _is_ an idiot,” Damen agrees, sipping from one of the mugs as he sits back across the table from Nik. He sets the other mug in front of the empty seat to his left. “But I _do_ agree with him on this.”

Laurent rolls his eyes as he takes the seat to Damen’s left, snatching the cup of coffee for himself. He’s surprised to find it’s made just the way he likes it.

“The route through Patras is more direct,” Nikandros says, slamming a hand on the table. Auguste is back to half-ignoring them as he cooks, but Laurent jumps at the sudden violence. When he settles again, his heart still racing just slightly, he glares daggers at Nik.

“It leaves merchants vulnerable to ambush for much longer,” Laurent snaps in Akielon. “Only a shitty king or a fucking idiot would exhaust his soldiers like that. Since you’re _not_ a king, that must make you a fucking idiot.” He tilts his head and bats his eyelashes prettily before taking another sip of his coffee.

A surprised silence fills the room for a moment, then Damen and Auguste burst out laughing.

“He roasted you in your own language,” Auguste teases his boyfriend.

“Your Akielon has gotten much better,” Damen says proudly and pats Laurent on the shoulder. Laurent bristles under the touch.

Nikandros scoffs and rolls his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. “What’s your major again, brat prince?” he condescends. “Why don’t you leave the talking to the grownups?”

Laurent’s chair almost goes flying with the force of him jumping to his feet. “Just because you’re fucking my brother doesn’t mean you have the right to speak to me that way. Learn your place, peasant.”

“I am in line to be the next Kyros of Delpha!” Nikandros retorts, jumping to his feet as well. His chair does topple over with the force of it. “I may not be an entitled prince but I’m due more respect than you have ever shown me.” He closes the distance between himself and Laurent and stands tall, arrogant and preening as the significant height difference (not to mention the difference in strength) between the two is noticeable when they’re toe-to-toe like this. “I won’t stand for it any longer.”

Laurent doesn’t back down though. He stares right up into Nikandros’s face and his lip curls into a disgusted grin. “It’s _Delfeur_ you barbarian. And what are you going to do about it?” he asks, voice even despite the fists clenched at his sides.

Damen is on his feet now too, ready to intervene, and Auguste is at Nik’s back, a hand on his shoulder. Nikandros and Laurent stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment, challenging, before Nikandros shakes his head and turns to Auguste.

Laurent snickers and a cocky smirk dances on his lips. The quiet laughter is all it takes, though, and Nikandros whirls back around, fist already in the air. It's too fast for Laurent to dodge the blow completely, but he manages to deflect it enough that it catches his cheek instead of his nose and it doesn’t land with as much force as it could have.

“Nik!” Auguste says, surprised and exasperated, tugging him back by the shoulder.

Laurent lets loose a string of insults in both Akielon and Veretian and makes a lunge for the older man. Fortunately, Damen steps in front of him before he can get too close. He catches him with a hand around his wrist and an arm around his waist.

“Drop it, Laurent,” Damianos warns softly, trying to catch the blond’s eyes.

“Fuck you!” Laurent spits at Nik, trying to tug free of Damen’s grasp.

“You’d love that,” Nikandros taunts over Damen’s shoulder.

Auguste starts chastising his boyfriend again while Laurent lets out a frustrated scream and doubles his efforts, but Damianos is still stronger and manages to keep him in place. He pulls him to his chest and wraps both arms around the young prince.

“You won’t win this one, Laurent,” he says calmly, quietly. “Let it go.”

Laurent struggles for another minute before stilling. He stands there for a moment, breathing heavily, before shoving at Damen’s chest. “Let me go, brute,” he huffs.

Damen hesitates for a moment, but eventually releases him. The second he’s free, Laurent flashes Nikandros his middle finger and stomps up the stairs. He texts Lazar to meet him at the gym for some extra practice and grabs his bag before stomping back down the stairs and out of the house.

_From one hell to another_ , he can’t help but think again.

-

That afternoon when Laurent gets home, Auguste is sitting alone in the living room. Laurent tries to ignore him and go straight upstairs; his fencing bag is over his shoulder and he needs to shower. Badly. But, this day being what it is, Auguste stands up.

“Laurent, can we talk?” he asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets to hide them fidgeting.

Laurent sighs as he stops at the foot of the stairs but doesn’t let himself slouch. “About what?” he asks, still not looking toward his brother or putting his bag down.

“Anything _real_ ,” Auguste says and lets out an exasperated sigh of his own. “What happened today with Nik. What happened with Uncle while you were in Chastillon. What’s going on in your head. Literally anything that would give me some idea of why you’re so-”

“So what?” Laurent snaps, tossing his bag onto the bottom few stairs and finally turning to his brother. “Why I'm so what?”

Auguste stands taller now, his face more sure, more firmly set. “Cold, mean, rude, short-tempered,” he starts listing, gesturing as he goes. “Distant, even with me. Take your pick Laurent. It’s like you’re a-whole-nother person lately.”

“You want to talk about this morning? Keep your fucking boyfriend in line,” Laurent says, crossing his arm over his chest. “He’s an idiot – an even bigger one than Kastor apparently – and I'm sick of the way he thinks he can talk to me. I'm sick of his stupid fucking face. I’m sick of his attitude. I'm sick of everything about him and I’m sick of him being around all the fucking time.”

“I’ve tried to talk to him, but it’s difficult to get through to him with the way you’ve been acting,” Auguste says. “You’re at fault here too. And he was right in one thing, he’s deserving of respect. Even a ‘peasant’, as you called him, would be deserving of respect. And that's whether they’re dating me or not. He’s going to be a Kyros and when Damianos is king he will be his right hand. _What happened_ at Chastillon, Laurent?”

“You want to know what happened?” Laurent snaps, throwing his hands up. “You really want to know?”

Auguste’s expression softens just slightly but the resolve is still there behind his eyes. “Yes, of course I want to know,” he says.

“You abandoned me like a pet or a toy you’ve grown bored of and I was forced to rot in that cell with no one but Uncle to keep me company!” Laurent shouts, and it’s not a lie by any means, it’s just not the entire truth. “You threw me away for Damianos and Nikandros! And now you expect me to act like it never happened! You want me to play nice with the men I was abandoned for! You want to prance back in like you actually give a fuck about me! Where were you the last _ten years_? I’m not falling for it!” He’s not sure how he manages to keep the tears from his eyes or the trembling from his voice. His hands are shaking, but he’s not sure Auguste has noticed. His brother looks like he’s taken a blade to the heart, face pale, eyes wide, hands clutched to his chest, jaw slack.

Before Auguste has a chance to recover from the blow or give any kind of reply, Laurent grabs his bag and storms up the stairs as quickly as his shaky legs will carry him. He locks himself in the bathroom and when he finally emerges it’s only to lock himself in his bedroom all the same.

-

Laurent is grateful when Damen is the only other person in the house by the time he gets up the next morning. He packs his backpack with the thought in mind to stay out of the house as long as possible, no matter what it takes. Guilt roils in his stomach at the thought of his fight with Auguste the day before, but anger still simmers beneath the surface at the reminder of what started that in the first place – his fight with Nikandros – and the memories that caused him to say those things in the first place. He rubs his eye and remembers he has a bruise on his cheekbone that Aimeric and Ancel are never going to let him live down.

Damen tries to talk about what happened. Of course Auguste had told him. When that doesn’t work, he tries to start more casual conversation, but Laurent won’t have it. Not before class, not during lunch, and not on the way to fencing practice. After practice he feels a little better. Aimeric had made comments just like he knew he would. But he gets out his frustration and that helps.

It also triples the feelings of guilt, once the anger has burned itself out.

They make it as far as the end of his street before Laurent turns to Damen. He chews on his bottom lip and puts his hand on the other man’s knee. “Could we go to your place tonight?” he asks quietly, averting his eyes.

“You really should go apologize to him,” Damen says, an eyebrow raised. He’s not one hundred percent sure if Laurent is letting his guard down or manipulating him, but he still pulls into a driveway and starts turning around.

“I know,” Laurent says and sighs, pulling his hand back as he curls his knees up to his chest.

When they get back to Damen’s house, Laurent immediately pulls out his laptop and gets set up doing homework at the kitchen table. Damen orders out for dinner and changes into pajamas before joining him at the table with his own homework. They work in silence, but it’s surprisingly not uncomfortable and Laurent finds himself feeling more settled and relaxed than he has in a long time.

When the food shows up, Damen shifts to the couch and starts browsing for something to watch while they eat.

“Do you want something more comfortable to change into?” he asks Laurent, glancing over to him.

Laurent quirks an eyebrow and gives Damen a quick once-over. “I doubt anything in your wardrobe would fit me,” he says.

“I could probably find something,” Damen says with a shrug.

“I don’t want some trophy from a one-night stand or something,” Laurent says, his lip curling in disgust.

Damen snorts and rolls his eyes. “Is that what you think of me?” he asks. “After we eat I’ll find you something that will fit.”

Laurent ends up in a pair of Damen’s sweatpants, tied as tight as they’ll go and yet still hanging low on his hips, and a t-shirt that could pass as a dress on him if he cinched it at the waist with a belt. They watch a movie while they eat and by the time it’s done Laurent’s curled up in the corner of the couch yawning.

“Looks like I should bring you home,” Damen says and laughs softly.

“Do you have a spare room I could sleep in instead?” Laurent asks around another yawn.

Damen raises an eyebrow at him, tilting his head curiously. “I do, but are you sure you don’t want to go home?”

“That would require me packing up my stuff. _And_ hauling it back there,” Laurent mumbles, resting his forehead against his knees pulled up to his chest. “Too tired for all that.”

Damen laughs again and stretches as he stands. “Of course, silly me,” he says. “Would you like me to carry you to the spare room as well, Your Highness?”

Laurent glares as he looks up at the older man. “You know what? I do, as a matter of fact,” he replies, challenging him.

Damen smirks and turns to him. “You’re not allowed to hit me for it then,” he says. “You literally asked for it.” Then, before Laurent can respond, he scoops the blond into his arms like he’s as light as a child and starts carrying him across the house to where the bedrooms are.

Laurent’s eyes go wide as he’s lifted so effortlessly, but he quickly wraps his arms around Damen’s neck. “If you drop me, I'll kill you,” he says.

That night Damen wakes with a start to the sound of terrified screaming from another room. For a moment, he doesn’t even recognize Laurent’s voice. He’s never heard the blond sound so scared, so vulnerable. He’s on his feet instantly, his blood ice in his veins. He bolts out of the room, fists clenched and ready at his sides. But when he enters the guest room, Laurent is still alone and asleep.

The relief is short-lived, though. The blond is still screaming, crying, thrashing in his sleep. The pain in his voice spurs Damen into action again. He climbs onto the bed and tries, around Laurent’s flailing arms, to smooth his hair back, to offer him some form of comfort.

“Laurent,” he says, his voice raised just enough he hopes it will pull him from his nightmare. “Laurent, wake up,” he says in Veretian as he realizes his own hands are shaking.

Laurent starts crying in earnest now, trying to push Damen’s hands away, clawing at him. “Stop! No!”

Damen’s heart breaks in his chest and he curses under his breath, his arms stinging from Laurent’s long nails, though he hasn’t drawn any blood. “Laurent!” he says again, louder this time, as he pins the prince’s wrists on either side of his head. He doesn’t want to scare him any more than he clearly already is, but he has to get him conscious.

The screaming stops entirely now that Laurent’s wrists are pinned, but it’s replaced by whimpering and soft sobs as he still fights weakly against Damen’s hands. His hips twist as he kicks out half-heartedly. Damen is hovering over him now, watching the tears slide into his hair, trying to figure out how to wake him up without startling him too much.

“ _Please,_ don’t touch me there,” Laurent whimpers in his sleep. Damen freezes, his entire body going cold as his heart stops in his chest. “Please, _stop_! No, I _don’t_ like it! Please...”

Damen recoils so hard he almost falls off the side of the bed as his heart kickstarts again, beating violently in his chest. He tries to say Laurent’s name again, but nothing comes out when he opens his mouth. He can’t help but wonder if this is simply a nightmare, or if _this_ is what happened to him at Chastillon. If it’s not just a nightmare, Damen thinks, he’ll burn Chastillon to the ground. With everyone inside it.

Laurent screams again, then suddenly he’s awake. His eyes are wide as he sobs and gasps for air, fingers clawing at his own chest now, at the too-big clothes.

“Laurent, it’s okay!” Damen tries to reassure him in Akielon this time, hands out but too afraid to touch. “It’s okay,” he repeats, softer this time. It’s only then that Laurent even seems to notice him, still sitting there on the edge of the bed, still frozen.

“Damen!” Laurent gasps out and scrambles into his lap. He buries his head in his chest and wraps his arms tight around his waist, still crying as he clings to him.

Damen only hesitates for another moment before wrapping his arms around the younger man, running his hands slowly, soothingly over his shoulders and through his hair. “It’s okay,” he says quietly. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now, I swear it. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Thank you,” Laurent whispers, sniffling. “Stay with me?” he asks after a moment, timid like Damen wasn’t even sure was possible for him. “Please?”

“Are you sure?” Damen asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of his head.

“Yes,” Laurent says, nodding against his chest. “Please? Keep me safe.”

“Of course,” Damen says quietly. “Let’s lie back down. You should try and get more sleep.”

“Thank you,” Laurent whispers again before dissolving into more silent sobs.

-

Laurent wakes up the next morning with his face pressed into warm skin and hard muscle, arms wrapped around him and legs entwined. His half-asleep brain panics for a moment, until he registers the smell of Damen’s cologne and the memories of last night come flooding back to him. He feels his face flush, shame engulfing him from the vulnerability he’d shown. Not to mention, he must have been screaming in his sleep again. Why else would Damen have ended up in the room in the first place?

Suddenly he realizes this is the first time he’s ever woken up in someone’s arms, and the urge to shove him away is just as strong as the urge to stay here and let himself start crying again. A crawling under his skin equally as prominent as the feeling of safety, of comfort for the first time since he was a child living in Arles.

Damen stirs and as he does his arms tighten around Laurent protectively. Still only half-conscious, he presses a kiss to the top of Laurent’s head and lets out a soft, sleepy sound as his hands brush slowly up and down the blond’s back. “How are you feeling?” he asks, voice rough and groggy.

Laurent feels a lump form in his throat and he fights against it. “Better, I guess,” he mumbles against Damen’s chest. Though, really, when he thinks about it, he’s not sure how he feels. Or maybe it’s that he’s feeling too many contradicting things all at once and he doesn’t want to bother trying to sort through them all. “Thank you for last night,” he says. “I’m sorry for causing so much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Damen says, fingers still trailing along Laurent’s back. There’s a long stretch of silence where Laurent can feel him debating if he should say something or not. Then, finally, Damen says, “I know it’s not my story to tell, but I think it might be good for you to know you’re not alone.”

Laurent squeezes his eyes shut and he clenches his fists loosely as Damen goes on, “That’s why Aimeric tried to kill himself.” The blond’s breath hitches, his body going cold. “He was raped, and he felt like it was his fault. He hadn’t told Jord, because he felt like he’d done something wrong, and he couldn’t live with himself.” One of Damen’s hands stills on the small of his back while the other starts to card slowly through Laurent’s disheveled hair. “He’s doing better now, Jord knows and is helping him through it, he’s seeing a therapist, all that. But I just mean, if you want to talk about it, I’m here. And I know you two bicker, but I'm sure he would be there for you too. Either way, there’s options. It might help.”

Laurent shakes his head quickly, barely breathing as he digs his fingernails into his palms. “I don’t,” he says quietly, his cheeks burning. “Want to talk about it, I mean. I don’t want to _think_ about it.”

Damen sighs softly but he nods. “If you ever change your mind, I'm here.” he says. Then, “Does Auguste know?”

Laurent’s entire body tenses and he shakes his head again, violently this time. “No!” he says, finally pulling from the embrace. “No, and you _will not_ tell him. It is not his cross to bear.” He sits up quickly, cheeks still red, and points an accusing finger at the older man. “If you tell him, I'll deny it and I'll kill you with my own saber. Worse! I’ll make you wish I had.”

Damen sighs again as he leans up on an elbow. “I think you should tell him,” he says. “But you have my word that I won’t.” Laurent narrows his eyes at him and Damen can’t help but think, ‘ _Ah, there he is’._ “Do you want me to make breakfast before I take you home, or would you rather eat there?”

-

Laurent is reading on the back porch when Auguste gets home that afternoon.

“You’re lucky Damen texted me where you were last night, or I would have been worried sick,” Auguste says as he steps out to join him.

Laurent fights the instinct to snap at him, to spit another _‘oh now you care?’_ at him. His cheeks flush as he thinks of their argument from a few days ago. “Sorry,” he mutters, staring intently right through the page in front of him.

“He texted me this morning again,” Auguste says. He sits next to his brother and gently takes the book from his hands, sure to mark his place before closing it and setting it to the side. “He told me you had a nightmare last night.” Laurent bristles, feels the rage starting to burn him up instantly. But before it can take hold, Auguste continues, “He wouldn’t tell me what it was about, if he even knows, but it really shook him. That’s not an easy thing to do, even considering how in love with you he is.”

“How _what?_ ” Laurent snaps, finally meeting his brother’s gaze. “Are you _insane_?”

“You _really_ haven’t noticed?” Auguste asks and chuckles. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to talk about that too then. But first, I know that nightmare was related to whatever happened at Chastillon.” The frown is back on Auguste’s face and he takes one of Laurent’s hands in his own. “Will you _please_ talk to me about it? Whatever it was, _who_ ever it was, they can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Nothing happened at Chastillon,” Laurent insists, though the blush spreading down his face and chest give him away. He looks away again, though he doesn’t pull his hand from his brother’s grip.

“Was it Govart?” Auguste pushes gently. “He’s always been such a brute, and for whatever reason Uncle’s always had a soft spot for him.”

“It wasn’t Govart,” Laurent says quickly, the fire already draining out of him. He grips Auguste’s hand tighter and swallows hard. “Govart just kept his secrets.”

“Who was it then, Laurent?” Auguste urges, scooting closer and taking his other hand as well. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened.”

Laurent closes his eyes and squeezes Auguste’s hands tightly. There’s a long moment of silence, a battle waging inside his head. And maybe it’s the exhaustion, that feeling of being torn open from the nightmare, or maybe it’s the feeling of being torn open from Damen’s tenderness with him. Just that morning he’d sworn to himself Auguste would never found out, but this evening he’s sick of fighting. And what’s more, he’s sick of fighting alone. He swallows hard again, takes a deep breath, and says quietly, “Did you know Uncle has a proclivity for pretty young boys?”

Auguste goes rigid next to him, his own grip tightening as the breath leaves him for a moment. He opens his mouth to speak a few times, but nothing comes out.

“No, you wouldn’t know,” Laurent says, softly, no bitterness in his tone. “Of course not. He’s _very_ good at hiding it. Having Govart as his muscle helps. Ten is such a good age,” he says the last bit like he’s reciting a line and Auguste makes a strangled noise next to him. “Double digits, _so_ grown up… Finally, at sixteen I was too old. I started looking too much like a proper man.” He still hasn’t opened his eyes and he shakes his head now as if that will clear the memories from his mind.

“Laurent...” Auguste says, still at a complete lack of words, still frozen as he tries to process the confession.

“That’s when he started ignoring me,” Laurent says and finally, finally opens his eyes. He still can’t look his brother in the face, though. “It was a blessing, really. Or so I thought. Until I came across Nicaise in the halls, dolled up like a pet, and I realized it would never end. Uncle will likely get rid of him in the next year or so, too, depending on how quickly puberty takes hold of his features. Nicaise doesn’t have any family to go back to. He can’t even read or write. What do you think Uncle will do with him?” His hands shaking violently in Auguste’s grip betray his calm, detached tone.

“I won’t let him get away with this,” Auguste says, quiet but fierce. “And I'll find a home for that boy. A proper one. I’ll make sure he gets an education. I won’t let him get away with this, I swear.” The promise is louder the second time, even more sure. “Why didn’t you tell me, Laurent? I could have gone to father. We could have stopped it. You didn’t have to...” He shakes his head now, his thumbs brushing Laurent’s knuckles. “You didn’t have to go through that. You didn’t have to bear this alone. Especially not for so long.”

“He told me he’d have Govart kill you,” Laurent whispers, finally looking at his brother. “He said he’d have both of you killed, and then he’d be king, and then _no one_ could stop him. I couldn’t... You don’t know how _clever_ he is, how tricky. He would find a way, I knew it. And I couldn’t beat him on my own. So I just couldn’t risk it.” Tears are welling up in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks despite his determination against them.

Auguste pulls him into his arms and holds him tightly, like Damen had the night before, like he had this morning. Laurent feels a weight off his chest as he finally allows himself to sink into his brother’s embrace. He finally feels like he can breathe again.

There’s a long moment of silence before Laurent has to break the tension and asks, “Now _what_ is this nonsense about Damianos being in love with me?”

-

Laurent can’t sleep, and it’s not because of all the talk about his uncle. He can’t stop thinking about the accusations Auguste had made about Damen and his feelings for him. He’d even gone so far as to accuse Laurent of feeling the same and being too damaged to even realize it. He hadn’t put it in those words, of course, but the implication was there.

Maybe he was right, though. Would he even recognize those kinds of feelings if he did have them? What does that even mean in this context, “love”? What would that even feel like?

The second the sun starts peeking through his window he texts Jord for an early practice. He needs the physical movement, the fight of it, to work through this tightness that’s back in his chest.

“Do you love Aimeric?” Laurent asks Jord as they’re warming up.

Jord looks at him like he’s grown another head. When Laurent just raises his eyebrows at him expectantly, Jord lets out a disbelieving huff of a laugh.

“I do,” he answers finally. “Not exactly the kind of question I’d ever expect to get from you, though. No offense. Why do you ask?”

“How do you know?” Laurent asks. “Like, what does it feel like? Loving someone you’re not related to.”

Jord’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline and he laughs nervously. “You’re joking, right?” he asks.

Laurent just blinks at him and shakes his head. “How would I know if I was in love with someone?” he asks.

A lightbulb goes on in Jord’s head and he grins. “Ooooh!” he crows. “Okay, this is about prince Damianos. I get it now.”

Laurent flushes and narrows his eyes. “And just what do you mean by that?”

“I mean, it’s obvious you two have feelings for each other,” Jord says with a shrug, that grin still on his face. “My money was that you were already together, but Aimeric kept insisting you weren’t. I guess he was right.”

“Are you going to answer my question or not?” Laurent snaps, reaching for his saber.

Jord laughs and holds his hands up defensively. “Okay, okay,” he says. “You know you love someone when you can be yourself around them, you know? You don’t have to hold back or try and act cool or smart or anything. You’re not constantly trying to impress them. You feel safe around them, supported. That’s real love.”

“That’s it?” Laurent asks, starting to strap on the last of his gear.

“Well, that’s not _it._ But hopefully you get the idea, at least.”

Laurent bites his lip and looks thoughtful for a moment before slipping his mask on. “Ready to lose?” he asks over his shoulder as he starts to get into position.

-

Being the weekend, it’s one of the rare days that Damen isn’t there to pick Laurent up for classes or some other obligation when Laurent wakes up. He gets ready for the day quickly and tells Auguste nothing more than, “I might not be home tonight,” on his way out the door.

After a few hours at the library working on homework and a stop at a diner for lunch, he starts running his less necessary errands. By the time the sun is starting to set he’s let himself into Damen’s house, changed into a pair of his sweatpants, and is dancing his way around the kitchen as he cooks.

The food is almost done when he hears the front door open. There’s a pause, then Damen’s laughter rings through the halls.

“Are you _cooking_?” he asks, kicking off his shoes and making his way to the kitchen. “How did you even get in here?” He leans against the doorway and watches Laurent with curious, confused eyes.

“You’re very bad at hiding your spare key,” Laurent says and laughs, only sparing the briefest of glances for the older man. “And yes, I am cooking. Did you think I wouldn’t know how?”

“I really, truly did,” Damen says and laughs as well. “Do you need any help?”

“Of course not,” Laurent says and waves a dismissive hand. “Anyway, I’m full of surprises, apparently. Go get changed and take a seat. It's almost done.”

Damen laughs again and raises his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say, Your Highness,” he teases. He’s not quite sure what’s going on, but he’s never seen Laurent this soft or unguarded, so he’s sure as hell not going to ruin it by asking. At least not right now.

Laurent is setting two plates on the table as Damen returns in a pair of pajamas.

“Is there a specific reason for this?” Damen asks, against his better judgement, as he takes a seat across from the blond. “It’s very... out of character for you.”

“It’s come to my attention,” Laurent starts and takes a bite, just to make him wait. “That you have feelings for me.”

Damen’s cheeks tint the lightest shade of pink and he sputters, nearly dropping his fork. “Who told you that?”

“My brother,” Laurent says and grins proudly at the reaction he’d managed to get.

Damen huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “Of course,” he says quietly. “So you’ve come to let me down gently then, I suppose?”

“No, I’ve come to make your life a living hell,” Laurent says with a smirk.

“By cooking me excellent food?” Damen teases.

“Oh no, it’s much more than that,” Laurent says and laughs. “You see, Jord has helped me realize that...” his bravado drops slightly as his pinking cheeks betray him. This is harder to say, harder to even joke about, now that Damen is actually right in front of him. “Well, it’s possible I might have feelings for you too.”

Damen lets out a loud, surprised laugh, then quickly clamps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he says between his fingers. “Just, you couldn’t sound less sure of it if you tried. Not to mention, that doesn’t exactly sound like making my life a living hell.”

“Well you’ll have to start courting me properly, you know,” Laurent says and points his fork at him accusingly. “None of that bullshit Nikandros is pulling with Auguste. I hear that’s quite a pain in the ass. And then, _if_ you’re successful, you’ll be stuck with me, which I've been told is also pretty unpleasant.”

Damen laughs again and reaches across the table to take Laurent’s free hand. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he says and leans across the table to kiss his knuckles. “Tell Auguste to look forward to my formal request for courtship, first thing in the morning.”

“And in the meantime?” Laurent asks, smirking despite the blush still on his cheeks.

“We’ll figure something out,” Damen says and winks.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading!! I really hope you enjoyed it!!! I think I got everything in the tags but please let me know if I missed something<3
> 
> Comments, kudos, etc etc etc mean sososososo much to me!!
> 
> And, as always, you can find me on [tumblr](http://worrisomeme.tumblr.com) where we can chat or you can send me requests or prompts!<3


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